Two men were on their feet, plainclothes officers with service revolvers trained on the combatants. Reese must have overheard something that told him they were cops.
Reese gave a werewolf-strength heave and threw his target toward the detectives. Nick was still grappling with his. He snapped the hunter’s arm. The man yowled. His gun fell. Nick grabbed him by the jacket and threw him to the cops.
Nick and Reese turned on the third hunter. Behind them, the detectives tried to tell everyone to stand down, drop their weapons, get on the ground, but there were only two of them, busy subduing two big men. The third hunter hadn’t pulled a gun, and the detectives seemed to decide Reese and Nick could handle him.
Nick took a slow step toward the hunter. He turned and ran for the back door.
“Bring Vanessa around,” Reese said to Nick. “I’ve got this.”
Nick shook his head. “Stay with me. I think Malcolm’s here. Vanessa’s not answering—”
“Then go get her.”
“It could be—”
“—a trap. I know. I’ll be careful. But if Malcolm sees me with you …”
Reese was right. As much as Nick wanted Reese at his side, he was safer if he wasn’t.
“I’ll get what I can from that fuckwit,” Reese said. “You find Malcolm.”
Nick nodded and took off.
Malcolm had been there. Nick could smell him outside. Put that together with Vanessa clearly not being where she should be—or answering her phone—and Nick wasn’t pissing around untangling scents to confirm his suspicions. Vanessa would never chase Malcolm if she spotted him. Not after last night. Malcolm must have taken her. And if Nick was going to get her back, he couldn’t be crouching on the sidewalk. He needed a shortcut.
He strode into the first empty service lane, found a spot behind a parked delivery van, and took off his clothing to begin his Change. Was it the safest spot to do it? Nope. Did he give a shit? Nope.
Nick was never speedy at his Changes, even at the best of times. Halfway through, he realized he hadn’t thought this through. Would the change in form give him enough advantages to outweigh the delay? He hoped so, because it was too late to go back now.
He finished his Change and struggled up. His legs wobbled, exhausted from the strain, accustomed to a few minutes of rest afterward. He didn’t have a few minutes. He gave himself a muzzle-to-tail shake. There was always some adjustment—to being on four legs, to a black-and-white world, to the sounds and scents that assaulted him from all sides. He snorted, exhaling hard and pawing the ground, getting his bearings as fast as he could.
As he turned to go, Vanessa’s phone rang from his pocket, now stuffed into a recycling bin, under a layer of shredded paper. He did pause, worrying that it was Vanessa or Reese, needing him. But he couldn’t risk Changing back.
The phone stopped ringing. Nick took off.
24. VANESSA
Vanessa listened to her recorded voice, telling the caller to leave a message.
“Nick, it’s me. Call back. Please.”
She sent the same message by text. There was no reply. It was her own goddamned fault. He’d tried to call her and she’d been running, the phone stuffed in her pocket, unheard.
Now she’d stopped to let Nick know what was going on and discovered she’d had three calls from him. She’d been texting to tell Nick to come after her. Now he was … without knowing what the hell was going on.
Damn it. She really had been out of the field too long.
She looked around the shop. Electronics. She was in the accessories section, catching her breath while pretending to check out the vast selection of earbuds. Malcolm was … Well, that was the problem. She wasn’t exactly sure where Malcolm was.
She’d spotted him as she’d been waiting on the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the restaurant. One eye on the restaurant … while looking for Malcolm. He was using the hunters, not only for amusement and diversion, but to keep tabs on Nick. He’d set them on Nick with that cell phone trick. Now they apparently had their own methods of tracking Nick, meaning Malcolm could just follow along.
Sure enough, after five minutes, Malcolm had shown up. He’d spotted Vanessa almost immediately. Then he’d begun circling, like a lone wolf with a deer, surveying the situation, determining the best method of attack.
She hadn’t waited for him to figure it out. Take control of the situation. That was what she’d been taught, and that was what she did. She didn’t run. He wouldn’t have bought that, not only because he must know she wasn’t some random woman Nick had picked up, but because, let’s face it, with the rental car nearby—and Nick within screaming distance—she’d be an idiot to run.
Earlier, they’d decided that the best trap was an obvious one. Let Malcolm see it. Let his ego take over. So she had hurried off—after making it very clear through her body language that she was actually luring him away. In other words, she did exactly what she figured Tina had done, and Malcolm went for it.
Vanessa didn’t have Tina’s overconfidence, though. Nor that desperate desire to impress Nick. Well, yes, she did want to impress him, but not by taking down Malcolm alone—even if she somehow managed it, he’d think her a reckless fool. She’d stuck to the shop-lined road, where Malcolm wouldn’t dare strike. Then she would text Nick and tell him what was happening, so he could be in place when she left the shop for a quiet place where Malcolm would pounce.
Except Nick wasn’t answering the phone. She tried Reese, too, but it went to voice mail. Was Reese okay? Was Nick with him?
Damn it. She should have looped Nick in right away. She hadn’t wanted to worry him while he was dealing with the hunters. She figured she could keep Malcolm on the run until Nick was free. Which was, she supposed, exactly what she needed to do now. Keep texting and keep luring—
“Hello.”
She turned to see Malcolm Danvers. Standing right beside her.
He was in his eighties, but looked a quarter century younger. She would not say he was an attractive man—after how he’d killed Tina and Sharon Stokes, there was no way her brain could see anything attractive there—but she could acknowledge that he’d have no trouble with women. Average height, with a powerful build, blue eyes, and dark hair sprinkled with gray. All that passed through her brain as simple data. What she actually noticed were his eyes. Empty and cold even as they sparkled with amusement at her surprise.
“Oh,” he said. “Were you texting Nicky? Telling him where you’ll lure me so he can take me down? Please, don’t let me interrupt. In fact, I can suggest a place about a block over. Have him meet me there in five minutes. You can stay here, or at least pretend to stay here while following me to protect your lover.” A pause. “He is your lover, I presume?”
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Oh, you’re more than just his lover, I’m sure. You’re one of Rhys Smith’s agents. But you’re still sleeping with Nicky. That’s a given. You’re female and reasonably attractive. A little past your prime, but Nicky isn’t as choosy as I am. If he doesn’t lose his hard-on looking at it, he’ll fuck it.”
She tried to give no reaction, but she must have, because he laughed. “Sorry to shatter your illusions, my dear. Sleeping with him doesn’t mean you’re pretty enough for him. You’re merely fuckable. For a night. If nothing better presents itself.”